


Rare and Welcome Luxuries

by misstriplem



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:53:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23437897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misstriplem/pseuds/misstriplem
Summary: You wake up at the Saints Hotel in Valentine and take to musing about your night with Arthur Morgan.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Female Reader, Arthur Morgan/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 80





	Rare and Welcome Luxuries

**Author's Note:**

> **NOTE: There's no actual smut, just a bit of teasing.**
> 
> This was done as part of a prompt found on Tumblr. The prompt was "Go back to bed."
> 
> (Follow me on Tumblr @outlaw-outlier)

The first pleasant dregs of sunlight streamed in through the thin lace curtains of Valentine’s Saints Hotel.

You blinked open your eyes, banishing the lingering heaviness of sleep. You balked for a moment at the unfamiliar sensation of softness beneath your head; how long had it been since you felt anything more than the stiff, unrelenting firmness of your canvas cot? You flexed your fingers, rifling them along the edges of the cool, freshly pressed pillowcase and sheets beneath.

A contented sight escaped your lips. You could get used to staying in hotels. It was a rare luxury, to be sure, but a welcome one all the same. The killing, stealing, and lying that encompassed everyday life seemed further away in these precious fleeting moments; you could feel them lingering on the edges of your consciousness, waiting until the moment when they could descend upon you and remind you that your life was anything but luxurious and filled with idle pleasantries.

You rolled on your back, feeling your muscles stretch and pulse with waking warmth. One arm drifted over your eyes, blocking out the persistent light, while the other dropped lazily to your side. Your errant hand brushed up against the figure beside you.

A quick glance at the opposite side of the bed drew forth a wide, mischievous grin. Arthur Morgan was sprawled on his back, his head lolled to one side. His lips were slightly parted, his chest rising and falling with the steadiness of one relinquished firmly to sleep. If you listened closely, you could just make out the soft, barely perceptible echo of a snore as it rumbled at the back of his throat. The blanket you shared had somehow become almost entirely wound around his legs, leaving only his chest bared to the morning.

You glanced down at the slim bit of blanket that just barely managed to cover your essential parts. It figured that Arthur would hog the blankets; he tended to do just that, particularly after a night spent…

The waking world fell away as you sifted through memories of last night. You turned on your opposite side, propping your head up with a hand, as you watched Arthur sleep. You brushed your fingers against his hand, running them along the edges of the callouses that had so reverently caressed nearly every inch of your skin. Your eyes lifted to his sweeping, broad chest, recalling the way your lips had tasted the skin along the ridges of the carved muscles. Your sight traveled further—to his neck, where you were sure your kisses would leave a mark or two, and then to his lips.

Your hand wandered up his arm, dipped to the soft skin at his elbow, and up the slopes of his bicep. It was difficult to think beyond the recollection of Arthur’s lips on yours. It was becoming rather arduous to focus as you remembered the way they’d trailed a sensuous path along your collar bone before dipping to your breasts.

And, much to your chagrin, a tendril of warmth snaked through your stomach as you very carefully considered how his lips felt when they took those breasts in his mouth.

You shook your head, banishing the thoughts for now (you’d very likely revisit them later). Your hand had made its way to Arthur’s chest throughout the duration of your silent—and very self-rewarding—musings. Your fingers slipped through the dark strands of hair, savoring the warmth of his skin and the hard evidence of his strength.

Arthur shifted a bit, unconsciously lifting his chest to lean into your touch.

A grin played on your lips. You hadn’t consciously made the decision to be together. You couldn’t even begin to count the times you’d spent dancing around the very notion of romance, refusing to acknowledge and let blossom what so evidently existed between the both of you. How many times had Mary-Beth, Tilly, and Karen teased you about your affection for Arthur, and his for you? It had all seemed silly—and, admittedly, like a good bit of fun. You trusted Arthur with your life; it had taken quite a bit to earn that trust, as had been the same for him, but when it came, it had been as easy as breathing.

You brushed the tips of your fingers lightly against his collarbone. That wasn’t to say that it had been easy being together. It had taken him a long time to feel comfortable enough to tell you about Eliza and Isaac; while it hadn’t exactly dampened his more— _primal_ —needs, it had made him almost entirely reluctant to believe it worth it—no, _safe_ —to be with somebody.

He’d pushed you away half a dozen times before you finally proved you weren’t going anywhere. He’d been too afraid to open his heart, afraid that getting too close to you would result in your demise. Arthur Morgan had believed his touch to be necrotic, poisonous, deadly. You bent your head and placed a kiss to his shoulder and hoped that you’d proved him wrong.

A low, deep rumble echoed in his chest. He pressed his lips together as his shifted on the bed, angling a bit closer to you. He raised a hand and laid it atop yours, his thumb rubbing idly along your knuckles.

“ **Go back to bed** ,” he grunted, his voice raspy and a bit hoarse from sleep.

You chuckled. This time, you planted a kiss directly on his stubbled cheek. Despite his order, you saw a playful, adoring smile just barely lift the corners of his mouth.

You murmured, “I can’t. You took all the blankets.”

“Was cold,” Arthur retorted, his hand sliding up your arm.

You gave him a flat look, though his eyes were still closed. “That is a bold-faced lie, Arthur Morgan.” Your skin pleasantly rippled as his hand climbed its way up to your shoulder. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you lie for a living.”

Arthur cracked open a single eye. The summer blue orb trained on you, the ghost of his smile slipping into a trademark smirk. “That ain’t a very nice thing to say, miss.”

You decided it was a bit chilly in the room (Arthur’s commandeering of the sheets notwithstanding) and nestled against him. He withdrew his arm from the sheets and draped it around you, covering you with solidity and warmth. His hand trailed up and down your arm, the rough tips of his fingers sending shivers up and down your body. You breathed in his scent—musk, sweat, and the barest hint of tobacco—and relaxed against him.

“Well, you don’t exactly make a living on being nice, now do you?” you murmured. Arthur’s touch was relaxing; already you could feel sleep beckoning you once more.

But then the arm across your shoulders shifted. A hand snaked along your back to land on your hip. Arthur turned, angling his body toward you, and pulled you tightly against him.

You knew precisely where this was going. You wrapped your arms as much as you could around his considerable bulk as Arthur angled you carefully and considerately beneath him. You couldn’t help the wide, encouraging smile that appeared when he placed a chaste kiss on your forehead.

It didn’t matter how many nights you spent with Arthur. He was always adoring and careful, as though he might shatter you if he held too tightly. But you understood; in many ways, you felt the same. The life of an outlaw wasn’t made for tenderness and longevity, but the more time you spent with Arthur Morgan, the more you were willing to give it a shot.

You palmed his cheek and brushed your fingers along the square cut of his jaw. The hand on your hip wandered a bit lower as he nuzzled your neck, breathing in your scent.

“Don’t forget,” you murmured breathlessly as your hands wandered down his back, “we’re meeting John and Javier for that ranching job.” You were surprised you were able to form proper words, given the exorbitant amount of sensation emanation from where Arthur’s hand slid tentatively up your inner thigh.

He placed a lingering kiss on your neck. You sucked in a breath and arched your back, wanting him closer.

“That ain’t ‘til later,” he uttered. His breath crept across your skin, igniting the embers already stoked and ready in your center. You felt more than saw his smirk as he tugged off the tangled covers. He settled into a more agreeable position and pressed his forehead to yours.

You met his kiss eagerly with one of your own. When Arthur pulled away, you smiled up at him and said, “I guess we could go back to bed, then.”

Arthur’s smirk widened.

Outside, Valentine was waking up. But in a small, comfortable room in the Saints Hotel, time slipped away for two outlaws, both of whom were not yet willing to part with rare luxuries and indulgences.


End file.
